


Patchwork Robe

by HallsofStone2941



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bilbo to the rescue, Drabble, Humor, M/M, dorky cheesy love poem at one point, little bit stalkerish, thorin isn't as DFP as Bilbo thinks he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The fire alarm in our dorm is really quiet and you're a heavy sleeper so I have to rescue you" obligatory bagginshield AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patchwork Robe

**Author's Note:**

> I am suffering through terrible, terrible writer's block for this one hush hush story I'm writing, which means the number of random oneshots will probably increase. Yesterday I missed a fire drill in my dorm because it's incredibly quiet and sounds like a truck backing up, so [murmuredlullabye](http://murmuredlullabye.tumblr.com), who has basically become my muse in between writing her own fics, suggested that it needed to become a bagginshield AU. Voila, enjoy :D

It isn’t that he has a _type_ , per se (Prim would argue that yes, he does, stop trying to deny it, Bilbo), but the tall, blue-eyed, ever-scowling man, complete with a long mane of dark, wavy hair, is undeniably _attractive_.  
  
As he had mentioned, there’s the hair: black as night and looking as if its last encounter with a brush had been years ago. It falls to the middle of his back and, rather than making him look homeless, as it should, gives him that rugged oh-God-where’s-a-fan-when-you-need-one look (the accompanying beard, thick and neat, does _not_ help, nor do the tiny, tight curls that form as they dry after a shower - and Thorin after a show is… _unf_ ).  
  
Then there are the eyes, piercing blue, and set beneath oft-furrowed brows. Sharp nose, sharp cheeks, and a sharp tongue, the man is as attractive as he is unreachable, despite living only three doors down from Bilbo’s own room.  
  
But that growly demeanor doesn’t mean Bilbo can’t _look_.  
  
Or listen. Oh, has he listened. Because while Thorin does not speak much, his roommate does, either loudly and boisterously or lowly in his cousin’s (as Bilbo learns) ear. It’s because of this that Bilbo knows that Thorin has a sister, one nephew (and another on the way), that he hates coffee and loves Glee (Bilbo had been hard-pressed not to snort when Dwalin had been ribbing Thorin about _that_ ), and, most importantly, that Thorin is an incredibly heavy sleeper.  
  
This is important because Dwalin is out of town this weekend. It is important because the fire alarm in their dorms is dangerously quiet and does not sound at all like one would expect a fire alarm _to_ sound like. It’s important because some drunk asshole probably mistook the pull bar for a door handle, and now the entire dorm is emptying out into the icy winter air.  
  
Bilbo had been one of the first out of his room, and watches as the hall slowly fills with bleary-eyed students. He had been wise enough to put on his robe, because it’s _snowing_ outside, for _God’s_ sake, yet still hesitates, particularly when a towering form doesn’t join the rest. He pauses outside of Thorin’s door, contemplating the risks of waking the not-so-proverbial sleeping bear (versus letting him burn in the event that there is an actual fire).  
  
He opts against the second option, banging loudly on the door. The last of the students are trickling out, many giving him odd looks, but he’s beginning to feel desperate, because he’s stalkerish enough to _know_ that Thorin is in there.  
  
The door swings open.  
  
“What?” the figure on the other side growls, voice deep and rough to the point of sounding inhuman. Long, black tresses tangle and obscure the face, but Bilbo is much more distracted by the fact that Thorin, apparently, sleeps in nothing but boxers. In _winter_.  
  
Not really thinking things through, Bilbo grabs the hand that rests against the doorframe (and _no_ , he does _not_ have to reach on his tiptoes to get it) and begins walking, pulling a stumbling, almost-naked, and incredibly gorgeous man behind him. Thorin hisses when the door opens, icy wind hitting his bare skin, and Bilbo refuses to think as he removes his robe and hands it to the massive man. Shivering in his thin pajamas, he continues to drag the other behind him, praying that the narrow staircase won’t prove too much for the sleep-addled person following him.  
  
They reach the bottom of the staircase and move toward the group of huddled, freezing students, and only once they have stopped does Bilbo turn around to catch the ridiculous sight of Thorin, wrapped in a patchwork robe that bulges around his shoulders and doesn’t even go halfway down his thighs, and staring at Bilbo with an undeniable blush on his cheekbones. His arms are wrapped tightly in front of him, keeping the robe closed; he appears to be attempting a glare (and none too successfully) - all of it, of course, is ruined by the high red tinge on his cheeks, partially hidden by messy locks of hair, that has absolutely nothing to do with the cold.  
  
Other students are staring, too, and some are even giving them rather lewd looks. Bofur from fourth floor winks at him, and Prim’s eyebrows are seconds away from _waggling_. Drogo looks embarrassed, and everyone else seems to be more taken with the sight of Thorin’s pale legs sticking out from beneath the too-short robe.  
  
Despite his shivering, Bilbo turns his best glare on the lot of them, and many turn away. Attention is quickly turned to the RA as they await the results of the impromptu freeze-fest.  
  
The staff drone on about safety measures and “only pulling the alarm in true emergencies”, etc. etc., and Bilbo is quite certain he will turn into a popsicle before they are done, when a rather warm fabric is wrapped around him and, my goodness, yes, that is a rather _firm_ body he is pressed against, isn’t it?  
  
He does _not_ squeak, but attempts to look up as Thorin continues to hold him far closer than propriety dictates. It’s warm, though, and while the flush is still high on Thorin’s cheeks, there’s also the silent question of “would you rather freeze?”. The answer, of course, is no, so Bilbo stands still and does his best not to burrow closer to the warmth at his back (Thorin is _naked_ , for goodness’ sake!)  
  
Finally, the students are allowed to move back into the dorm. Thorin and Bilbo disentangle - _no need to get excited, you idiot_ , Bilbo tells himself - and stride, side by side, quickly to the stairs and up to the third floor. Bilbo is so focused on getting warm that he doesn’t realize Thorin still has his robe until he is buried beneath the blankets.  
  
_I’ll get it tomorrow_ , he tells himself, and it’s most certainly _not_ because he frankly can’t see Thorin again, naked _or_ in _Bilbo’s_ robe. The image is too much, and it’s seared already on Bilbo’s poor brain. And so decided, he goes quickly to sleep, and has very uncomfortable dreams.  
  
The next morning the events are almost banished from his mind, only to return in full force when he opens his door to find that damned patchwork robe hanging on his door. He gapes, snatches it up and drags it inside, and tries to ignore the new and utterly intoxicating smell coming off it.  
  
The slip of paper in the front left pocket is entirely unexpected, as is the unbelievably cheesy poem written on it. “Gold shines silver under the mithril moon”? Really? This from the guy that never even cracks a smile?  
  
(Bilbo will later learn that, in fact, Thorin _does_ smile - quite a beautiful smile, too; worthy of its own poetry - when he accepts the invitation to lunch that the tall, handsome, and not-quite-so-dark man had slipped into his robe pocket.)

**Author's Note:**

> The robe becomes its own agency in the relationship. Now back to pretending there isn't something I should be doing


End file.
